


Canteen Food

by Daegaer



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Adams
Genre: Aliens, Food, Gen, Humour, Radio, that remarkable book The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford eats in Arthur's canteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canteen Food

"What are you _eating?_" Arthur asked in horror as Ford slathered butter on another piece of toast and piled whitish _things_ on top.

"Breakfast," Ford said through a very full mouth. "Get your own."

"But what _is_ it?" Arthur said, feeling rather green.

"Witchetty grubs on toast. _Brown_ toast. For fibre."

"I didn't know the canteen did them," Arthur said, promising himself that he'd always bring a packed lunch to work in future.

"I brought them back from Australia. You wouldn't believe how easy it is to smuggle in several pounds of live grubs. They tickled a bit, though." Ford gave Arthur the sort of smile that had had many a man locked away for the good of society.

"I'm regretting saying you could go on air, Ford," Arthur said sternly. "I'm not sure that impressionable young people need to hear about grub smuggling. And now that I'm sober I'm not really convinced you hitchhiked to Australia anyway."

"Of course I hitchhiked to Australia," Ford said in surprise. "Hitchhiking to Australia's _nothing_, it's only on the other side of the planet. Be a pal, Arthur, don't drop me."

He held out a wriggling grub placatingly. For one awful and peculiar moment, Arthur was tempted. He shuddered and turned away.

"All right, all right, you can tell your horrid traveller's tales."

"Well at least some of the telepathy's working," Ford said. "I'm never at my best before noon." He grinned at Arthur's expression. "I learned telepathy from an Aboriginal elder," he said, off-hand. "The same fellow who first gave me witchetty grubs, as a matter of fact."

"I thought you learned telepathy from the Outer Space monks," Arthur said dryly.

Ford's toast stopped before it could be inserted into Ford's mouth. "Was I very drunk when I said that?" he asked cautiously.

"I'll say. You spent most of the evening chatting up a plant. We had to make a run for it before you were charged with indecent assault of an azalea. Yet another pub we'll never again be able to darken the doorstep of."

Ford's grin came back. "It was a very pretty azalea. Can't believe anything I say while drunk, Arthur, you know that."

"Yes, well. Finish up your -- your --"

"Witchetty grubs," Ford supplied helpfully.

"Your witchetty grubs. We're on air in ten minutes."

"Get me another couple of slices of toast first," Ford pleaded. "I've got quite a few grubs left."

He put a large Kilmer jar of wriggling, writhing grubs on the table. Arthur fled, swearing he'd never eat again.


End file.
